


I Decided This

by patster223



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Communication, M/M, Matt makes a lot of dumb decisions but Foggy is never one of them, Moving forward is a process, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I’m contributing yet another lovely sign to our office,” Foggy says, brandishing the finished product with a flourish. Matt can’t see the sign, but he can probably sense the flourish, which is what matters. “It says, ‘It has been ‘0’ days since Matt made an idiotic decision.’”</em>
</p><p>  <em>“Doesn’t seem like it will inspire much trust from our clients.”</em></p><p>What the sign instead inspires: debates, understanding, a patented Murdock-level guilt trip, ice cream celebrations, a kiss, and perhaps even a way to finally move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Decided This

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the sign came from [this post](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com/post/128994997546/i-bet-foggy-does-keep-that-signand-matt-will), and was written because how Matt thinks about decision-making fascinates me. Thanks as always to [the-oxford-english-fangeek](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com/) for betaing!

“You are an idiot.”

Matt has the nerve to pout at that, as if he’s not the one bleeding all over Foggy’s office right now. Foggy’s cramped and cluttered, but very proudly _blood-free_ office.

Or formerly blood free. Damn it, Murdock.

“It’s not like I meant to pull my stitches,” Matt says reasonably. And honestly, Foggy can’t tell if it’s _actually_ reasonable or not. He’s yet to reconfigure the scale of normality that Daredevil threw a wrench into. For now, Foggy’s going to assume it’s unreasonable: Daredevil stuff usually is.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, “but you _did_ say that you could help move my desk despite the six stitches in your side, so you can see where I’m coming from with the whole idiot thing.”

“I can’t see-”

“And I can’t hear your blind jokes over the sound of me looking at this first aid kit in despair,” Foggy says loudly. Then he frowns. “Shit, I actually have no clue what to do with this stuff. Uh. You don’t need _me_ to stitch you up again, right…?”

Matt is wearing his glasses, but Foggy has known the man long enough to recognize that eye roll –- it shows up in Matt’s smile lines, in the arc of his eyebrows.

“I think I can handle it,” Matt says dryly, plucking the gauze right from the kit. Damn, how can he do that without seeing when _Foggy_ can’t even tell what shit is in there?

“You are way too intimate with first aid kits for my comfort level, buddy," Foggy says.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not. Are you-”

“I’m okay.” Matt’s words are accompanied by him lifting his ruined shirt to dab around his sluggishly bleeding wound, so. Forgive Foggy if he’s not entirely convinced.

“No, you’re not,” Foggy says again. “You got stabbed in the side and you just showed up to work like it’s not a big deal! It’s a _pretty big_ deal, Matt.”

Matt opens his mouth -– probably about to say something like _but it’s not a big deal_ or _I’m used to it_ , and so help him, if he does that Foggy will _cry_ and it will be extremely embarrassing –- and then shuts it again with a click of his jaw. Matt’s lips purse and his eyebrows furrow into his _for-some-reason-my-tragic-past-bothers-people-so-I-guess-I-have-to-speak-carefully_ face.

Foggy is a big fan of the many faces of Matt Murdock. He would, in fact, be open to kissing nearly all of them, including this one. But for how much it infuriates Foggy, this face would only get a chaste peck at best. Or it would, if Matt would just admit that he _wants_ said chaste pecks.

And yes, Foggy _knows_ that Matt wants them. Matt practically vibrates out of his skin with his emotions -- how could Foggy not know? But Foggy’s secure in what he feels: has been for years. It’s not his burden to figure out whether to move forward, or to not bleed all over the place at work. That’s Matt’s shit to work on.

Matt, incidentally, is not great at working on his shit.

“I can’t just not come into work when I’m injured, Foggy,” Matt finally manages. The unspoken _otherwise I’d never be at work at all_ rings loud and clear in Foggy’s ears.

“Yeah, I know. Maybe make an exception for stab wounds though?” Foggy says. “You know what, we’ll make a chart. What wounds are acceptable to come to work with and what ones aren’t. We can get Karen to draft it up.”

“I didn’t tell her about Daredevil so that she could make charts, Foggy,” Matt snorts, as he retreats to his own office to retrieve a spare shirt.

“You didn’t _tell_ her at all: she found out. Because you are the most transparent lawyer in the history of the world. No wonder you want to defend the innocent. I know you _tell_ people it’s altruistic, but I think you’re just scared of everyone finding out what a bad liar you are.”

There’s a short silence, the sort that crackles and shudders between them without a moment’s notice these days. Foggy thinks of it as the _hey remember how you lied to me for years?_ silence. Very awkward, Foggy can’t say he recommends it.

Foggy begins doodling on the whiteboard he keeps on his desk -- intended to keep track of bills, but actually used to keep his hands busy during strained moments like these.

Matt is frowning as he returns to Foggy’s office, as he does up the final buttons of his clean shirt. Foggy looks him up and down: the immovable column of him. The hot muscle and blood and fury that's hidden behind a cornflower blue shirt.

Foggy sighs. No, it’s not his burden to figure out what Matt wants for himself, but he’s more than happy to break these strange silences that keep cropping up between them. Foggy wipes his hand across the whiteboard and begins writing with more intent.

Perhaps intent is something that flares brightly in Matt’s world on fire, for Matt immediately asks, “What are you doing?”

“Contributing yet another lovely sign to our office,” Foggy says, brandishing the finished product with a flourish. Matt can’t see the sign, but he can probably sense the flourish, which is what matters. “It says, ‘It has been ‘0’ days since Matt made an idiotic decision.’”

Matt laughs: one of those uninhibited, full-bodied chuckles that fills Foggy with warmth. “Doesn’t seem like it will inspire much trust from our clients.”

“Good thing we don’t have those then,” Foggy says, setting the whiteboard down on his desk. “Come on, let’s clean this gauze shit up before Karen comes back and comes to the correct conclusion that you were being an idiot... _again_.”

 

***

 

Foggy doesn’t mean anything by it, but he continues to keep the tally on the whiteboard. One day since Matt has made a bad decision, two days since Matt has made a bad decision…well, they don’t make it past two that first week actually. Which does not surprise Foggy in the least.

The moment that Matt comes into the office with a bandage around his head, Foggy rolls his eyes and absently replaces the two with a zero. And the moment Foggy does _that_ , Matt does an about face and storms into Foggy’s office. Which could have been intimidating, coming from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but with the bandage flopping around Matt’s face, it just ends up making Foggy laugh.

“Stop laughing. Why did you erase my two?” Matt says.

Foggy waves a hand in front of his eyes, which is quickly becoming their shorthand for _um I know super senses exist, but you’re still blind right?_

“I can hear you writing it when I come in every morning, and those whiteboard markers reek even to someone with a normal nose,” Matt says shortly. “Why did you get rid of my two?”

“Uh, because unless that little headpiece of yours is for decoration, _you_ came into work with a head wound. Which is legally considered an idiotic decision now, according to the Workplace Injury Best Practices Chart that Karen made yesterday. It clearly states: no head wounds in the office without prior approval from both Nelson and Page.

“I think I’ve finally figured out how to format it on the Braille printer too,” Karen calls to them. “Since, you know, we probably shouldn’t have that chart in a format readable to our clients.”

“Always thinking, Ms. Page,” Foggy calls back.

Matt’s lip twitches. “Well, if the Matt Murdock’s Idiot Decisions board hadn’t scared them off by then…”

“Then the gaping hole in your skull probably would, actually. Come on, buddy: a note from Claire or you’re going home.”

Matt sighs: whether at the existence of the whiteboard, the existence of the chart, or at the existence of head wounds in general, Foggy doesn’t have a clue.

“It’s just a mild concussion,” Matt says.

“And to think we were up to _two_ days of an idiot-free workplace-”

“Foggy-!”

Foggy gives a sigh of his own. “I’m not trying to baby you, Matt. The sign’s just a joke, I’m not punishing you for your sins or whatever…you probably do enough of that on your own, you martyr. But you’ve got to give me something, dude. I hate it when you come in all beaten up like this.”

Matt exhales through his nose, then nods. “Okay. I’ll leave early today. But I’m still going to the Shapiro meeting after lunch.”

“And I’m still going to keep the sign at zero,” Foggy says. He punches Matt lightly in the arm. “Fine, do your whatever, just let me know if you’re going to faint or- I don’t know, do other concussion-y things.”

Matt grins, and it’s bright and blisteringly beautiful. He reaches as if to punch Foggy back, but his hand slows and lingers in the space between them -– like it’s moving through water, through something thick and cloying. In the end, his hand only brushes against Foggy’s arm before flitting quickly back to Matt’s side: the water slowing it suddenly evaporated.

Matt swallows heavily, nods again, retreats to his office. Foggy stifles a groan and glares at the zero looking back at him from the Matt’s Idiot Decisions sign. At this point, there should be a Foggy’s Idiot Decisions sign to accompany it: zero days since Foggy has pinned a gross amount while waiting for Matt Murdock to get his act together.

 

***

 

So yes, keeping tally on Matt’s Idiot Decisions sign starts as a joke -– especially the next day, when Matt walks into the office without any bandages and Foggy applauds loudly before changing the sign –- but it actually makes things a bit easier in the office. It serves as a sort of vague mood tracker for Matt: numerous sign resets in one week means that Foggy or Karen needs to check in. Their little system helps Foggy keep up with Matt while he reorders his brain to think in terms of _Matt and Daredevil_ instead of just _Matt._

Foggy’s also found that debating what counts as an idiotic decision is helping them rebuild their boundaries far better than attempts at serious discussions have done. Foggy wins a lot of these debates, mostly because Matt’s definition of ‘idiotic decision’ is incomprehensible. As far as Foggy can tell, Matt just doesn’t see going two days without sleep, breaking a rib jumping from a building like a maniac, or passing out from malnutrition as decisions that he makes.

“That doesn’t make any God damn sense,” Foggy says, carefully settling Matt into a chair before rummaging through Karen’s snack drawer. “Okay, maybe you didn’t consciously say ‘hey, I’m going to not eat today and pass out at Karen’s desk like a moron,’ but that’s what happened! That’s a _decision_ you made, Matt.”

“Is Karen okay?” Matt mumbles.

Foggy rolls his eyes. Trust the guy to ignore the key part of Foggy’s argument. Foggy reminds himself to never let Matt go to court on an empty stomach. He grabs some crackers from the drawer and presses them into Matt’s hand. “She’s getting you a sandwich from the corner store, since you apparently _decided_ not to bring any lunch.”

“I didn’t decide not to bring lunch,” Matt sighs. “It just happened.”

“Yeah, just like jumping off a building last week just ‘happened,’ and how me resetting the board right now is going to ‘just happen’ too.”

“They’re not…” Matt takes off his glasses and rubs at his face. Foggy knows that Matt would rather be picking at furniture or fiddling with his cane, but the chair is only cheap plastic and Matt’s cane is in his own office.

Foggy hands him the whiteboard marker and watches as Matt immediately begins rolling it between his fingers: a poor substitute, but it’ll do for now.

Watching Matt’s hands thrusts Foggy back to the night he unmasked Matt. He remembers those same hands picking at the sofa, remembers _You ever stop to think what would happen if you went to jail? Or worse? You really think that anyone would believe that I didn’t know what you were doing, that Karen didn’t know?_ Remembers Matt’s non-answer, how Matt's face crumpled in response.

“You really don’t think about it,” Foggy realizes. “That’s why you don’t think of them as decisions. You really don’t _think_ about doing Daredevil stuff, you just…do it. It’s like you skip a step in the decision making process or something.”

Matt shrugs. His thumb moves quickly as it traces the groves in the marker cap. “Less skipping a step and more like…that step has already been completed for me. I already know that I’m going to do it.”

Foggy forces himself to take a deep breath before speaking again. “You’re telling me you _never_ thought about what would happen if you got caught? That’s kind of an important thing to consider, Matt-”

“It wouldn’t have changed what I did.”

“You were almost arrested once,” Foggy says, honestly a bit desperate at this point to figure out Matt’s logic. “The night of the bombings. Even _that_ didn’t change anything?”

“Not really. Foggy, you…you need to understand,” Matt says carefully. “It’s never felt like a real possibility to me. Even then. When they put handcuffs on me, I felt…frozen -- none of it seemed real. It still doesn't seem real. So maybe I should have thought about it, yeah, but I just…didn’t.”

Of course he didn’t. Matt once told Foggy that he doesn’t always think in words, so it makes sense: that he wouldn’t always think in terms of decisions either. Because fighting in the streets and even in the courtroom, Matt is sharp edges of righteousness and emotion: thinking doesn’t come into play, decisions don’t come into play. Matt doesn’t decide –- Matt just _does._

“I know you don’t think of it like a decision,” Foggy says, ease settling into his chest despite the words he’s speaking: because at least he understands now. It’s one more inch crossed of the divide that Daredevil put between them. “It’s not like that for you. And on some level, you don’t think you can stop -– I get it. But you’re still responsible for what you do, Matt.”

“I’m not a child, Foggy. You think I don’t know that?” Matt snaps.

“No, I think you do know that. This is just me, reminding you: you are responsible for what you do. That means you’re responsible for yourself too. So don’t _do_ stuff like this,” Foggy says, gesturing wildly at Matt and the crackers he still hasn’t touched. He can’t believe he has to explicitly say this kind of thing -- but on some level, he can’t believe he hasn’t said it before. Yes, it’s on Matt to move them forward: to correct these balances, to find out what he wants from Foggy -– wants _with_ Foggy. But it’s probably also on Foggy to make sure that Matt’s _aware_ of this responsibility.

“Please,” Foggy says. “Don’t let it get so bad that I only find out when you faint in front of Karen. The whiteboard helps, but it can’t tell me everything. I want to help you out, but it’s on you talk to me about it. Okay?”

Matt nods slowly. “I-I’ll try. I’ve _been_ trying, I promise I have, but…it’s hard.”

“Old habits,” Foggy says wryly. “I know. I’m just asking you to keep trying, man. And seriously, just –- I don’t know, if you don’t know how to tell me, use the board, or tap it out in Morse code or something. It doesn’t matter how you let me know as long as you _let me know._ You may be the man without fear or whatever the Bulletin is calling you these days, but…you really scared the shit out of _me_ today, buddy.”

Matt opens his mouth, but Karen walks back into the office and he only gets out an “okay” before she shoves a sandwich and a stress ball into Matt’s hands, and tells him to never scare her like that again.

The board gets reset to zero, but Matt eats the sandwich and all of Karen’s crackers, so Foggy doesn’t really give a fuck. He can deal with baby steps. And if that means continuing to use the board and having Matt actually tap out a list of injuries in Morse code -– the little shit –- then so be it. At least it feels something like moving forward.

 

***

 

It’s always Foggy who resets the board, never Matt. Hell, Matt has never even _touched_ the board before: doesn’t care for whiteboards in general. _I can’t feel for the words without erasing them,_ he once told Foggy in an amused _oh aren’t sighted people precious_ sort of voice. Matt is content to let Foggy control the board too. He knows that it’s a dialogue between them, not something that Foggy wants to hold over him.

Plus, Matt’s actually a competitive little shit about it his Idiot Sign, and would probably see tampering with the board as cheating. So Matt, as a rule, doesn’t touch it.

Which is how, when Foggy comes into his office to find a sloppy zero dominating the sign, he knows that something is up. And knowing Matt Murdock, it’s probably something awful and/or tragic.

Foggy glances at Matt’s office and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds him there: seemingly whole and healthy. “Matt?” Foggy calls.

“What?” Matt says -– not even bothering to look up from his laptop. Good avoidance behavior for some people, perhaps, but not for someone who doesn’t even _need_ to look at his laptop.

Foggy rolls his eyes and grabs the whiteboard before walking to Matt’s office. “What do you mean ‘what’ -– you can probably smell how confused I am or something. I bet it smells like almonds and sawdust.”

“Like moss after a storm actually.”

“You see, I’m 95% sure you’re joking, but I’m 100% sure that you love holding that 5% over me,” Foggy says. “Seriously, dude: why’d you reset the board?”

Matt shrugs. The movement is stiff, carefully practiced: a perfectly crafted _everything is fine, everything is normal, nothing to see here_. He still hasn’t looked up from the laptop that he is physically incapable of looking at. “It wasn’t accurate anymore.”

“What, did you pull your stitches again?” Foggy asks. “Because-”

“My stitches are fine. Just- look, you can leave it alone, okay? It’s nothing that affects you.”

Foggy’s glad he can’t hear heartbeats, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if he knew for sure that Matt was telling the truth. _Every decision you make affects me because I love you, you fucker,_ Foggy wants to say. _And you love me too but for some reason you still can’t get your head out of your ass long enough to tell me._

Foggy’s verbal filter is iffy at best and he’s fed up enough that he comes close to actually saying these things. But instead he remembers listening to the news radio this morning -– _Daredevil busts up trafficker’s hideout, four children rescued, ringleader still missing_ -– and it’s like a cold hand closes around his heart.

“This does affect me,” Foggy says slowly. “You guilt tripping yourself so loudly I can hear it from my office definitely affects me, Matt.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to distract you,” Matt says icily.

“You know what I mean. And you know that you didn’t make any idiotic decisions last night either: sounds like you made a few good ones, even.”

“Foggy, the-the _ringleader_ got away. If…if he regroups b-before I can find him again-”

Foggy wants to rip his hair out in frustration. Jesus Christ, someday Murdock will drive him to destroy his own luscious locks, Foggy just knows it. “And are you _deciding_ to let him regroup? Did you _decide_ to let him get away?”

“You said it yourself: I have to take responsibility for-”

Oh shit, of course _that_ little speech backfired. Fucking Murdock.

“For _yourself,_ Matt! For what _you_ decide to do! Not for what you _can’t_ do. Believe it or not, some things are just out of your control. Hard to believe, counselor, but I’m sure the jury will agree that it’s the truth.” Foggy gestures with his hand in a loose fist: an exaggerated version of his usual courtroom gesture. Matt doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t stop Foggy from continuing either.

“It needs to be a _decision_ to get on the board. Mistakes don’t count in the eyes of Judge Nelson. My whiteboard isn’t here for your guilt trip, it’s here for office shenanigans and general amusement. Or at least to keep track of bills…”

Matt’s lip twitches into an unconvinced smile: fragile, bitter, crumbling at the edges. Foggy wants to kiss this face of Matt’s too, but this time they would be sweet, gentle, forgiving kisses that would wipe away the guilt and the pain etched onto Matt’s features.

“Matt…” Foggy starts again, but he cuts himself off. He wouldn’t say that words are failing him now –- words don’t tend to fail Foggy until he tries to flirt -– but he’s known Matt long enough to understand when words aren’t working. Because right now, Matt isn’t even _processing_ in words. Right now, Matt is only raw, jagged shards of guilt and wet, dripping grief: words lie buried deep beneath the debris.

So instead of saying anything, Foggy just puts the whiteboard aside and leans down to hug Matt. Matt stiffens -– probably debating whether he deserves it, the idiot -– before collapsing into Foggy’s arms. Matt grabs at the back of Foggy’s suit jacket and buries his head into its lapel. Wet sniffles erupt from Matt, and Foggy wraps his arms around him a bit tighter.

“I mean it,” Foggy says softly. “It wasn’t your fault, okay?”

Matt shakes his head, and Foggy huffs into Matt’s hair. It’s nice hair: good volume, good fluff. Foggy runs a hand through it, and when Matt sags even further into the hug in response, he does it again.

“It’s not your fault,” Foggy repeats. “I’m changing the board back and you can’t stop me, not even with all your ninja skills. I have the _truth_ on my side, Murdock.”

Matt snorts. Still no words, but it’s a step closer.

“Nine whole days,” Foggy continues. “Nine whole days since you made an idiot decision –- wow, that’s actually pretty impressive for you. I think that’s your best yet. Don’t think I’ll let it go uncelebrated either.” His fingers make another pass through Matt’s hair, curling through one strand that’s getting particularly unruly. Foggy smiles when Matt hums at the contact. “Alright, I’ve just decided, when Karen gets in, we’re going out to ice cream. The whole office!”

“Pity ice cream,” Matt mumbles against Foggy’s jacket. His words are sluggish, but they’re there again: having waited until whatever happened in Matt’s brain or senses or heart had calmed down enough for them to return.

“Nope. If it were pity ice cream, I’d be the one paying for it. You’re buying, buddy.”

“I…I have to buy my own celebratory ice cream?”

“And my ice cream. And Karen’s. Thank you, by the way, it’s very generous of you.”

Foggy can feel Matt’s huff of laughter. It sends vibrations across Foggy’s chest that linger long after Matt gently extricates himself from the hug. Matt’s hands slide slowly from Foggy’s back, to his arms, to his front, and then -– after a spasm that Foggy’s not sure is a squeeze or just an aftershock of Matt’s episode –- pull away.

“Thank you,” Matt murmurs.

“A-anytime.”

This is probably the part where they should kiss. Their heads are still close together, their words are soft and quiet between them, and their cheeks both flush with the intimacy of the moment. If they were ever going to kiss, now would be the time.

But Foggy’s back is killing him from leaning over like this, he can hear Karen jiggling the key in the lock, and Matt—Matt’s jagged guilt has yet to scab, and there’s still a few stray tears leaking from his eyes. So he doesn’t move toward Foggy, and Foggy doesn’t move toward him.

Karen walks in, and Foggy carefully steps away from Matt. Matt’s hands twitch, hesitant and discontent, at his sides.

“Don’t close the door, Karen,” Foggy says, forcing himself to look away from Matt. “We’re all getting ice cream -– Matt’s treat.”

“It’s still the morning, Foggy,” Karen says skeptically.

“Yes, and what a glorious morning it is! We need to celebrate it and Matt’s continued trend of non-idiocy with ice cream.”

“Okay then: sounds good to me,” Karen laughs. “What number is he on?”

“Foggy tells me it’s nine,” Matt says, adjusting his glasses. “Though I still think eleven was my best run.”

“And you were overruled,” Karen says with a smirk, “because changing into the Daredevil suit in public restroom stall is the _definition_ of a bad decision.”

“And there’s no use in appealing that verdict, Murdock,” Foggy adds. He picks up the board and erases Matt’s messy zero: replaces it with a neat nine. “There: nine days, buddy. I’d tell you to feel it for yourself, but you don’t want this marker all over you.”

“C-can I feel it anyway?” Matt asks.

Foggy and Karen glance at each other: a _dear god do we love this man_ look that they share all too often. Foggy clears his throat and nods, hands the whiteboard over to Matt.

Matt runs his fingers over the board. At first, his lip curls in irritation as his hand gets coated in the smelly, sticky marker. But when his fingers trail against the curve of the nine, he grins. Love and pride –- and the daring hope that accompanies the two -– settle gently across Matt’s face, softening it into something new. The change reminds Foggy of steam rising from hot coco, or of a bed being made with a worn, beloved quilt.

This. This is the face that Foggy wants to kiss.

 

***

 

Less than a week later, when Karen is on a coffee run, and the office is slow and sleepy with the muggy weather, Matt walks into Foggy’s office and tries to reset the board again.

Foggy frowns. “I thought we set the precedent that I’m the only one who should change the board.”

“We’ve made precedents for workplace injuries, eating habits, sleeping habits, quote-unquote ‘guilt trips,’ and ice cream celebrations -– not who can write on the board,” Matt retorts.

“Alright, fair enough...though let the record show that I think this is a dangerous precedent to set with someone as filled with Catholic guilt as yourself,” Foggy says. He probably shouldn’t say that sort of thing in light of what happened last week, but Matt seems so energized right now -– shifting from foot to foot, pulling at his own sleeves –- that for once, it doesn’t seem dangerous to poke at Matt’s past.

Matt only laughs. “I promise to keep the Catholic guilt to a minimum.”

“That's all I ask,” Foggy says, spreading his arms. “So lay it on me, buddy. What broke the fifteen day streak? Did you try to break up a drug ring while you had a concussion again? Break your ankle rescuing at cat from a tree? Did you have to fight a guy named Stilt-Man?”

"I thought we agreed to never bring Stilt-Man up again."

"I don't think I'm physically capable of _not_ bringing up Stilt-Man as often as possible."

Matt huffs. "No, it's not...it's not anything like that."

Matt picks up the sign and cradles it for moment before nodding decisively. He wipes carefully at the board. He uncaps the marker and painstakingly writes a ‘0’ on the sign. He puts it aside, takes a deep breath.

“It’s not for anything I’ve done. It’s…it’s for what I’m about to do.”

“That…You know that’s not really how the board-”

Before Foggy can finish, Matt leans over the desk, places his hands over Foggy’s cheeks, and smashes their lips together. The kiss lasts for about four seconds, there’s far too much saliva involved considering how chaste it is, and Matt manages to cut Foggy’s lip with his teeth. To be honest, it’s probably one of the worst kisses Foggy’s ever had.

But then Matt leans away, that warm-quilt-and-hot-coco expression settled over his face again, and Foggy feels inclined to judge the kiss a little more generously. Especially given how stupid and slow Matt’s grin is as he giggles: like that was the _best_ kiss he’s ever had.

“Sorry,” Matt breathes. He traces his fingers along Foggy’s jaw. “I, uh. I thought that would be more…romantic.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Foggy says slowly, shaking his head so that their noses rub together. Matt giggles again. “It seemed pretty damn romantic to me. Well, other than the fact that you kissed me in my dingy office, my lip is bleeding, and you said that kissing me was an idiotic decision.”

Matt winces. “I did say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I…I really _did_ think that would be romantic.”

“I’m not an idiotic decision, Murdock. I’ll have you know I am a _prize_ catch.”

“Oh really?” Matt hums against Foggy’s lips.

Foggy can’t help but shiver. “I know you can’t see my face, but I am, in fact, incredibly studly.”

“But I _can_ see it,” Matt says, running his fingers along Foggy’s face: his ears, his eyebrows, his nose, his chin, his cheeks. His lips. Drinking in every _inch_ of Foggy, finally, _finally_ crossing the cavernous space between them and deciding what he wants: that what he wants is _Foggy._

“I’m an idiot in this no matter what I do,” Matt says, when his fingers finally still against Foggy’s face. “If I waited any longer, I would have been an idiot. I was an idiot to wait _this_ long. But…”

“But?”

Matt smiles wryly. “But the only way I could think to show you was by writing it on a _whiteboard,_ Foggy. A whiteboard that I can't even see. That’s the very definition of idiotic.”

“Probably,” Foggy says. “An incredibly idiotic decision. That doesn’t necessarily make it a _bad_ decision though…”

Matt laughs and kisses Foggy again, and it’s better than the first one: slower, sweeter, less teeth and spit. It’s languid this time, like now that Matt is sure of Foggy’s response, he can kiss as though he has all the time in the world. But best of all, the kiss bursts with the potential of the hundreds of kisses that will follow afterward. The potential energy of all those kisses sends a warm ache through Foggy’s chest.

Foggy only pulls away when his neck starts to scream at him for maintaining their current position. “Okay, I know I said this was a great decision, but could we maybe execute this great decision elsewhere? Like me _standing next to you_ ,” Foggy emphasizes, when Matt nearly chokes at Foggy’s words. “Though, uh, yeah, if you’re up for it, I’m definitely down for doing this at some other places later.”

“Standing is good,” Matt says, a bit dazed -– clearly still thinking about those ‘other places.’

Foggy clears his throat. “Standing is amazing. Which is why I’m going to stand up and kiss the daylights out of you until Karen comes back and catches us at it. But _first_ , I’m going to change the board back-”

Matt, as it turns out, does not have the patience for the board part of Foggy’s plan. But Foggy manages to scrawl an illegible ‘16’ on the sign before Matt kisses him again –- before Foggy is once again caught up in the whirlwind of bad decisions that is Matt Murdock. Which is somehow -– paradoxically -– an amazing decision: one Foggy thinks he’ll never stop making.

 


End file.
